


‘Uhane shorts

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [9]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Curtain Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various snippets in the ‘Uhana verse, a sentinel/H5O fusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Predestination – Not

Rating: Slash; PG; h/c  
Warning: none  
Advisory: none  
Comments:  
1) unbetaed  
2) For Springwoof

Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.

**Predestination – Not.**  
By Sealie 

_Well, hello_ , Steve thought to the newest member of their ‘ohana. Malia and Chin’s daughter was utterly tiny, fitting in the cradle of his two hands like tea in a teacup. 

She was the smallest person who Steve had held. In comparison, thirteen month old George Williams was a chunky butterball, and as complicated as a tangled maze. 

She squirmed and reached for her mother with all her self, and tiny pink, perfect hands grasped at the air. 

_Oh_. Steve froze. He wanted to laugh. But he didn’t want to disturb the baby. It wasn’t written in stone. It wasn’t predestined. It wasn’t fate. But how the hell did Malia and Chin have a new born baby guide? They had a baby sentinel and now they had a baby guide. All babies were emotional. Maybe all babies were empaths? 

“Bam. Bam.” George informed the world that he was in the vicinity. 

Danny came into the sunny nursery with George tucked in close on his hip. 

“Hey, Babe,” Danny said. “Little K need her diaper changed or something?” 

Malia was sacked out in her bedroom fast asleep and Chin had gone for a much needed breath of fresh air, leaving Steve and Danny to wrangle the kids. 

“I think that she was just lonely. Wanted some company.” 

“Mine!” George announced. 

For one moment, Steve thought that George meant the baby, but George scowled with all the unchained, jealous ferocity that a toddler could display at Little K. 

“Mine.” George reached for Steve, almost tumbling out of Danny’s grasp. 

“Oh, someone is jealous.” Danny chortled. 

“I’ve told you before, George, I’m your dad’s guide.” 

“Mine,” George said truculently. 

“Swap.” Danny said, easily sliding into Steve’s orbit, and somehow divesting Steve, one handed, of his new favourite person in the world, as George latched on like a monkey. 

George plastered a chubby hand directly over Steve’s heart, as Steve wrapped an arm around him. 

“Isn’t she adorable,” Danny cooed, gently rocking from foot to foot. 

“Mine,” George said, oozing satisfaction. 

 

**_Fin_ **


	2. Glom

Rating: Slash; PG;   
Warning: none spring to mind. 

Comments:  
1) British English spelling  
2) Sentinel AU fusion teeny, little timestamp. A snippety snippet.   
3) Spoilers: none  
4) Beta: the incomparable Springwoof

 

**Glom**   
By Sealie 

 

“So you came into your Sentinel abilities as a toddler,” Steve opened with, and Danny regarded him suspiciously. 

“Yes. Whyyyy?” 

“Your mom said it was something about protecting your new baby sister or something?” 

“I don’t remember; I was like two. Why are you asking?” 

“No reason.” Steve’s gaze slid in the direction of two year old George plonked on his diapered butt on the sand, destroying -- à la Godzilla -- the sandcastle that Grace had built. 

“You figured that George was a sentinel because he’s got some allergies. But do you think he’s not a sentinel -- yet?” 

“Uhm.” Steve scratched the side of his throat. 

“Tell the truth and shame the devil,” Danny said. 

“He’s--” Steve did a perfectly Williamsesque shrug complete with hand waving, “--I dunno, germinating.” 

“Germinating,” Danny parroted. “My son is not a plant.” 

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged down on his deckchair, and scooped his beer bottle out of its hole in the sand at his side. “Analogies for the win. He’s slowly developing his sentinel taste and touch, instead of it bursting out uncontrollably.” 

“Taste and touch.” Danny lowered his brows and glared at Steve. 

Steve simply flicked his finger in the baby’s direction. Danny focused on him. 

George had a handful of sand in his chubby fist. He was letting it slowly trickle out, one grain at a time. His control was absolute and dramatically adept for a twenty two month old toddler. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

Sight and touch -- not taste. 

George promptly stuffed the handful of sand in his mouth. 

“No!” Danny launched himself out of his seat. 

“He’s not going to swallow it,” Steve said to Danny’s back, “he’s a sentinel.” 

“ _PPPPPbbbbbbbttttt_.” George announced to the whole world his distaste, firing sand left, right and centre. 

“Banana.” Danny hooked his fingers into George’s mouth. Baby drool was flowing freely, washing out any remaining sand. “Awesome. Stick your tongue out, kiddo.” 

Danny demonstrated, and George mimicked allowing his dad to wipe at his tongue with the back of his hand. 

“It’s like Slimer from the Ghostbusters,” Steve observed from the comfort of his deckchair. 

Danny flicked a gob of drool in his direction. 

George spat the sand out, and blew a raspberry over his tongue trying to clean it. Steve remained sitting as the drool rolled out of George’s mouth like a faucet. Toddlers were generally utterly disgusting. And normally at both ends. 

“Why did you do that, you little banana?” Danny asked fondly, spreading drool and sand and slobber. 

George grinned up at him, cheeks rosy and glistening. Danny scooped the toddler up and tucked him under his arm like a football. He angled over to Steve on a direct line of trajectory. George’s little hands grasped the air as he focused on his favourite person in the world. 

“No.” Steve eeled off his chair. He pointed to the house. “Bath time. Bath time.” 

“Honestly.” Danny turned away. “You would think that SEALs would be more hardy.” 

“They didn’t train me to deal with bio-hazards.” 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Danny said sagely (and he was right, Steve did know how to deal with biological waste and hazards, but that didn’t mean that he was going to do it). 

“Kids are just so endearing.” Steve gave Danny and George a wide, wide berth. “I’m going to check on Gracie.” 

_**fin** _


	3. Three guesses what the boys did…?

Comments  
1) I don’t believe any warnings are necessary or there are triggering elements within.   
2) No betating at this time.   
3) This is dedicated to Springwoof

**Three guesses what the boys did…?**   
By Sealie 

 

“Camping. Camping. Camping,” Steve said half singing. 

“Five star hotel. Five star hotel. Five star hotel.” Danny sang back, as he indicated and smoothly changed lanes. “Sentinel friendly.” 

“The forest is sentinel friendly; back to nature as your will intends.” 

“Coffee pot,” Danny returned. 

“I’ve got a Bio Lite camp stove and a Moka pot – best sentinel friendly coffee on the planet.” 

“I’ll raise you a power point and internet access.” 

“Hotels are expensive,” Steve played an ace. He set a booted foot on the dashboard. 

“We can afford it once in a blue moon for a weekend, just you an’ me,” Danny raised the ante. “Foot.” 

“We could go camping for three weeks for the same price as a weekend at the Da Vinci.” Steve lowered his foot. 

“Pampering,” Danny said singsong. “Massages. Haute cuisine.” 

“You wouldn’t know haute cuisine if it ran up and bit you on the ass.”

“True, but I enjoy a massage.” 

“I can give you a massage.” 

“You can rub me hard,” Danny said. Steve had rough, callused hands. 

Steve snorted out a laugh. 

“Okay, that came out wrong.” Danny clenched his fists around the steering wheel. “What I meant to say: massage is a skill that you do not have.” 

“True.” 

“Hah!” One point to Danno and one point to Steve, went the singsong in Danny’s head. 

“Privacy. Privacy. Privacy,” Steve offered. 

“Why say it three times? We can lock the door in the exclusive suite we’ll be christening.” 

“Christening?” Steve echoed. His mouth dropped open. “Oh!”

Point to Danno. 

“We would still have our cell phones.” Steve was like a terrier jumping on a rabbit. “We’d be literally around the corner. It will take us at least a day to get to Niʻihau, at a minimum we’ll have ninety six hours of no casework and cell phones aren’t allowed – Un COnt TactaCAAble.” 

Danny downshifted and smoothly coasted to a stop at the lights ahead. Point to Steve-o

“No pay-by-view,” Danny said. “And NO room service.” 

Point to Danno. 

“We don’t need room service on an isolated island when we have steaks and Châteauneuf-du-Pape and an open fire.” Steve eyed him sideways. “2006 Châteauneuf-du-Pape Chante Cigale.” 

“Hmmmm,” Danno grumbled. Steve was holding that in reserve. 

Steve interlaced his fingers, and then pushed his hands outwards stretching. 

“I might also have two organic Éclat milk chocolate bars….”

_**fin** _


	4. þærscwold

Warning: **caveat lector.**

Comments:  
1) British English spelling  
2) Sentinel AU fusion timestamp.   
Spoilers: none  
Beta: Springwoof was kind enough to add her valuable insights and edits. Thank you.

**þærscwold**   
By Sealie 

The loamy soil was cool against his fingers as he dug. Scooping up a magnolia seedling from its tray, Steve gently placed the plant in the small hole. Keeping the garden, front and back, healthy and in flower, was not his favourite way to spend his time. However, he always enjoyed it when he set to work, and when finished as he stepped back to see what he had wrought. Grace actually loved gardening, and Steve cultivated her interest like a plant; any help was welcome. Unfortunately, today Grace was at some sort of school camp. 

“Good morning, Steven.” Mrs. Ureña’s light, lilting voice disturbed his concentration. 

“Hello.” Attention partly on his planting, Steve stood, brushing his hands off on his cargo shorts. “Nice to see you out walking. Are you feeling better?” 

“I do feel better --” She rested a thin hand on the top of the garden gate, “--my touch of arthritis is gone now.” 

She was suddenly incandescently white, the flare of her aura like a migraine. Steve blinked, trying to resolve that which he felt from that which he saw. It wasn’t always easy. Mentally, he pictured the short, elderly lady that he had known for years: bright black eyes, pupils and irises almost the same colour; a warm and so-friendly smile; light brown skin, and provider of cookies and sweet picarones. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mrs. Ureña?” Steve couldn’t move his feet. 

“I just wanted to thank you, Steven. It was very nice of you and your Danny to do the shopping for me-- Oh, and look…” 

Toddler George came thundering down the path, his sandals slapping against the paving stones. Each step echoed with solid determination. 

“George,” Steve began, hand out wardingly. 

“Oh, he’s getting big,” Mrs. Ureña marvelled. 

“Yeah, I think that the short height genes are skipping a generation,” Steve said automatically. George was a solid little figure with glistening blond hair and cornflower blue eyes. Cherub was the word most often used to describe the boy. Steve, reluctantly, glanced back to the column of light standing at the threshold of his family’s home. 

Stomp, stomp -- George came to a stop at Steve’s side and twisted his fingers in the hem of Steve’s shorts. He held on tight, pulling hard at the fabric to draw Steve back. 

“Hey?” Steve bent over to untangle the toddler’s fingers. 

“No,” George said truculently, and in a determined step stood before Steve. 

Body tense, George stood between Steve and Mrs. Ureña, bristling. 

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Mrs. Ureña said. 

“You are more than welcome,” Steve said precisely and respectfully, “it was a pleasure, and it was never a chore.”

“Always such a polite little boy,” Mrs. Ureña laughed. “And your son is clearly cut from the same cloth.” 

George was growling. 

Steve scooped George up and set the little boy on his hip. Immediately, George splayed his hand over Steve’s heart. Even as he nestled in Steve’s hold, his taut concentration was all on Mrs. Ureña. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Behind them, Danny came strutting down the path. “What on Earth are you two up to?”

“Danny,” Steve turned to-- he wasn’t too sure what, stop him coming closer? 

“Danno!” George said authoritatively. 

“He’s not trying to eat the plants again is he?” Danny said jovially. George had a weird set of taste buds and would put anything and everything in his mouth. His fondness for tasting meant they had to be constantly watchful, especially when tasting led to eating. Flowers featured strongly in his diet -- hence Steve’s gardening, and weeding out those that weren’t good for eating. 

“No.” The flare of migraine whiteness stopped. Steve didn’t need to turn to know that Mrs.Ureña was no longer at the garden gate. 

“Is Curious George bugging you?” Danny curled his finger over George’s chubby cheek to tickle his neck. 

George giggled and burrowed into Steve’s side. 

“No. he came out to….” Stand before me and the unknown. To protect…. Steve hiked George up a little higher, so he could blow a raspberry on his round cheek. “He was being a good little sentinel.” 

“What, protecting you from the evil flowers? Hah! There’s my boy.” Deftly, Danny plucked George from Steve’s grasp. He tossed his son lightly into the air, making him giggle again, and caught him. “You gotta watch these guides; they get themselves into all sorts of situations.” 

Danny continued his lecture as they meandered up the garden path. 

Steve waited until they had ambled out of sight before making the phone call to Max, so that they could both go and see Mrs.Ureña. 

_**fin** _


	5. Sleeping with the Dead.

Trigger warning: emotive subject [reference to familial death] 

Comments  
1) Springwoof is an excellent beta – thank you

Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.

**Sleeping with the Dead.**   
By Sealie 

Warm and wet, Danny twitched his hand away from the sensation. Waking was luscious and slow. He didn’t launch himself to his feet -- gun cocked. He merely cracked open an eye as he thought: What?

Vel regarded him muzzle to nose across the bed mattress. She whined and then licked Danny’s fingers again. 

“Was the matta, pup?” he managed. Her tail thumped against the bedside table. 

Danny was alone in their bed. Sleepily, he kicked off the white and black floral cover, and kind of semi-rolled into a standing position. 

“Steve?” the bathroom door was open; no occupant. 

Vel was now in the doorway regarding him impatiently. Lassie at her finest. 

“Okay, okay.”

Scratching his butt, he wandered flatfooted into the hall. It was dark; middle of the night. On auto-pilot, Danny poked his head into Grace’s room. She slept the sleep of the just, flat on her back, sprawled out. Next -- in the corner of Steve’s office-come-music room-come-introvert’s hideaway (for when he wasn’t in the garage) -- George was tucked in tight in his tiny trundle bed. 

The kids were okay. 

“Stay with George, Vel,” Danny ordered, and pointed at the cushion that was set by the toddler’s bed, just for that purpose. 

Danny padded down the wooden staircase, half asleep and firing on two cylinders out of six. No internal, alarm sentinel-bells were peeling. He knew that Steve was in the dining room, and doing something that squeaked and brushed. 

“Hey, Babe?” 

Steve had the mop and bucket from the utility room, and was swish-squidge-swish mopping the floor, but he didn’t have any water in the bucket. Danny’s heart pinched. 

“Steve?” He slid forwards. “What’s going on?” 

Steve was focused on his task cleaning the floor. Studiously mopping, rinsing, and mopping with absolutely no water. The wheels on the bottom of the bucket squeaked as he twisted the mop in the bucket wringing no water out. He was cleaning doggedly and persistently.

“Steve?” Danny got into his line of sight. “You with me?” 

Steve’s eyes were open but his vision was fixed a million miles away, or more accurately two years away remembering an anniversary that should never be celebrated. 

Danny angled around Steve, trying to get a handle on what the Hell was happening. The sideways jut of Steve’s jaw and the shine in his eyes screamed pain. But the energy which always frittered over Steve’s skin like little bolts of lightning was muted at sleeping levels. 

Despite all the evidence to the contrary. He was soundly asleep. 

Danny blinked, he thought only kids sleepwalked. Grace had had a few incidents when she was a toddler, usually followed by a feverish cold. 

“Hey, Babe.” Danny set a hand on Steve’s arm, stopping his repetitive cleaning movements. “It’s clean now.” 

“Got to get the blood off,” Steve gritted.

“I promise, Steve. No blood.” The stain of his father’s murder had been indelibly dried into the hardwood. No amount of bleach and water had been able to remove it. Attempts at cleaning had only made it more of an insult. The floor had had to be pulled up and replaced.

“It’s there.” Perspiration beaded on Steve’s brow lending him a feverish cast. 

“I _even_ can’t smell it.” Danny curled an arm around Steve’s narrow waist. “All clean.” 

“Yes?” Steve scrutinised the floor. 

“All gone.” Danny pried the mop handle from Steve’s grasp and propped it up against the table. He pushed the bucket away with a squeak. “Come on, Babe.” 

Docile, Steve let Danny turn him around. “All gone,” he echoed. 

“Back to bed,” Danny said deliberately singsong, towing him along. 

This was a brand new side of Steve. Where was his head? He was so bottled down that when it bled through Danny only ever saw the tiniest of glimpses. A bright flash in his eyes. The over straight tautness of his shoulders. Sleepwalking was an altogether new tangent, and Danny was pretty sure that he hated it. This day had stirred up a lot of memories. 

Steve’s flat expression did not mask the pain in his eyes. 

“Come on, Babe.” Danny led Steve into their bedroom. Steve was an automaton – not pliable but obedient, stripped down to following orders. It was a trained, default position beaten into him from early childhood and reinforced in basic training. 

Steve sat down on their bed following Danny’s guiding hands.

“Lie back, Babe.” Danny cupped the sweaty nape of Steve’s neck and got him lying on his side. He lay like a wooden figurine. 

Quickly, Danny got around to his side of the bed. 

“To me,” he said, and hand on Steve’s shoulder rolled him into his arms. “It’s okay.”

Danny carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently scratching over his scalp all the way down to his nape. The two thick tendons at the base of his skull were iron hard. 

Danny brushed a kiss on Steve’s temple as he gently stroked. 

“Shush,” he soothed. “Ssssshusssh.” 

The suddenness of Steve’s release was a blessing. He switched from a taut manikin to a pliant, comfort-seeker between two breaths. And he was still soundly asleep 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Sssshh,” Danny let the sibilant exhalation drift away. Steve snugged in tight, and Danny welcomed it. He, himself, finally relaxed back, Steve’s head pillowed solidly on his shoulder. 

By the doorway, a pair of gleaming, amber eyes in the moonlight caught Danny’s gaze. 

Danny acknowledged Vel’s checking with a smile and the tilt of his head, indicating the way back to George’s room. Vel’s bushy tail wagged once before she turned to return to George’s side. 

_**fin** _


	6. Teething Pains

Rating: gen;  
Warning: none spring to mind.  
Comments:  
1) British English spelling  
2) Sentinel AU fusion teeny, little timestamp. A snippety snippet.  
3) Spoilers: none  
4) Beta: the outstanding and wonderful Springwoof  
So I was chatting with Springwoof, and I was inspired, and I wrote a ficlet. I do like writing these sort of snippets, it’s the way that they trip off the fingers. 

**Teething Pains**  
by sealie

George traversed the side of the couch, hands clutching cushions and his eyes on his goal. Unsteady, he made every step with a waddling stomp. 

_Hah_. The baby’s glee was solid enough for Steve to reach out and poke. 

Steve moved his beer out of George’s reach. 

_No_. George latched onto Steve’s leg, nomming absently on his knee as he clambered over the barrier. 

Steve moved the beer back to the other side. George made an about turn, drooling over Steve’s other knee. 

“Beer is not good for eleven month olds.” Steve took a glug. The amber nectar gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. 

George _wanted_. 

“No,” Steve emphasised. 

_Mine. Smooth._ ❤.

Steve rolled his eyes. Leaning back -- but keeping his legs still -- he set the bottle on the windowsill behind him, well out of reach. 

“You’re going to be walking soon,” Steve observed. Out of sight, out of mind. Gumming on Steve’s knee was much more satisfying. The two blunt teeth, top and bottom, gnawed. “Are you getting another tooth?” 

The wretchedness of George’s teething wasn’t a state that Steve wanted to revisit. Steve had ended up gnawing on teething rings from the freezer himself, trapped in the baby’s misery. He hadn’t wanted to lock down his empathy because Danny had been wound tightly, concerned that the teething symptoms could mask something more serious. 

❤

Steve stroked a hand over George’s blond curls, smoothing them down. George practically purred. Drool soaked the knee of Steve’s cargo pants. 

“Awesome.” 

George dropped on his padded butt and scuttled away. 

Their baby proofing had been carried out in stages. The gate at the bottom of the stairs was a new development. George’s crawling skills had improved dramatically, practically exponentially in a matter of days. The gate didn’t bother Steve; he just stepped over it. Danny’s clambering was hilarious to watch. 

George skirted along the side of the cubby under the stairs. 

Steve pondered life, the universe, and everything, and stood up. The cubby had been a feature of his family’s home since his paternal grandfather, weary and shell-shocked, from decades of War, had added to the structure that the house’s architect, Raymond Llewellen Morris, had built. Rear Admiral Steven Matthew McGarrett had settled into his life with Grandma Lani. One of Steve’s first memories was being balanced on his grandfather’s hip while being introduced to the wonders of the cupboard. The absent smell of sweet pipe tobacco tickled Steve’s senses. Grandad Steve always smoked. 

“Hey, George.”

The baby turned on his butt and stared up at Steve. He grinned widely, displaying his tiny teeth. 

“Okay, some ground rules, now that you’re becoming mobile.” Steve regarded his young charge. “Firstly, the cubby is out of bounds. You’re not allowed in there. You may look inside when I or your dad is with you, otherwise it is completely a no-go-area. Understand?” 

Drool slid down George’s chin. Teething was definitely on the agenda. Steve was going to mainline the gel this time. Plucking the rag out of his back pocket -- he habitually kept one on hand when George was visiting -- he mopped off the baby. George protested, but cheered when Steve picked him up. 

Balancing the baby on his hip, Steve stooped before the cubby. He had a second store in the garage and a gun safe for their handguns in their bedroom, but he needed to have equipment in the house in close proximity. Steve pushed on the door panel; it clicked and swung open. 

“These are tools, and they are dangerous,” Steve said soberly, in the face of his gun store: assault rifles; a variety of handguns; assorted rounds in labelled boxes; machetes, bayonets, and k-bars, and tactical vests for the whole family, including an actual blanket. The food and water supplies were stored elsewhere. “To reiterate: You’re not allowed in there. You may look inside when I or your dad are with you, otherwise it is completely a no-go-area.”

 _Shiny._

“No,” Steve said. “Well, yes, very exciting, but they’re tools, and when you are old enough your Dad and I will teach you safety.”

 _Gleaming; bright -- attractive._

Steve pushed the door shut with his foot. The door clicked shut satisfactorily. He swung George around, bringing him up, so they were eye to eye. George grabbed at his nose. 

“This is serious, George Williams, the gun cubby is out of bounds.” 

Big, bright blue eyes regarded him, curious and full of light and life. Steve figured that he would have to repeat the instructions a few more times. And maybe get a thumbprint lock for the door. 

**fin**


	7. Milkshake and Fries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: gen  
> Warning: none spring to mind  
> Spoilers: none  
> Disclaimer: writing for fun and not for profit  
> Beta: Springwoof as an absolute STAR
> 
> Comments:  
> 1) British English spelling  
> 2) Sentinel AU fusion teeny, little timestamp. A snippety snippet in the ‘Uhane universe

**Milkshake and Fries**  
by Sealie

“So do you want to be a sentinel or guide?” Lucy asked around her straw, between sucks of her thick milkshake. 

“I’m not gonna be, am I?” Grace fumed. 

She channelled her Dad when she was upset. Lucy thought that it was hilarious when her dad’s accent came through strongly. 

“Guides mostly break out when they’re little, so I’m not going to be a guide. I could be a sentinel. My dad’s a sentinel.” 

Grace dunked her fry in her strawberry milkshake and munched, so Lucy kind of guessed that being a sentinel was off the cards. 

“Yeah, but do you want to be a sentinel?” Lucy probed. She was allowed, she was Grace’s best friend. 

Grace looked around the 1950s themed diner for answers. None of the posters were going to help her, Lucy figured, although Marilyn Monroe was an inspirational, feminist icon. 

Be strong, Lucy thought. 

“Yeah, ’course I do.” Grace crunched on another fry. 

“But?” Lucy tried the dipping, licked and set her fry aside on a napkin – because _ugh_. 

“I guess the slavery aspect is to be frowned upon.” 

Rachel’s accent made an appearance; Lucy hunched down in her seat a fraction. 

“Slavery?” Lucy asked. 

“Forced to attend training schools, assigned guides, inducted into public service whether you like it or not. Poorly paid public service.” 

“Whoa.” Lucy turned Grace’s words upside down, shuffled them, and they still said what Grace had just said. “For real?” 

“For real. And that’s the sentinels. The guides have it worse.” 

“I never… I never knew. For real?”

“No one sees it. It’s in your face.” Grace sucked on her bottom lip. “You just accept it, because that’s the way that it is. Danno was a really good baseball player. He could have been a _contender_. Yeah, he hurt his knee. But if he hadn’t he would still be a cop, because sentinels in our family become cops or firemen -- firepeople. Uncle Steve--”

Lucy sighed. 

“--actually loves playing the flute, but he gave it up as a kid, ‘cos he thought that it would get him sent to Guide Island. I mean, Uncle Steve as a musician, instead of a SEAL, is all kinds of weird, but he should have had the choice.” 

“Commander Steve plays the flute?” 

Grace nodded. 

“Unreal.” Lucy leaned her elbows on the Formica table top. “I don’t think that’s slavery. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it’s slavery.” 

Grace pushed her milkshake aside. “I heard Uncle Steve say something about being press ganged….” 

“What’s that?” 

“I dunno. I think it’s a Navy thing.”

“Forced?” Lucy ventured.

“Yeah. But they’re respected, you know. Danno calls it putting him on a pedestal.” Grace stared glumly at her burger. “But he doesn’t like being on a pedestal.” 

“I don’t get it. Isn’t that like being royal? Royalty? Like Prince William and Prince Harry?” Lucy thought that was a good thing. 

“Danno says that he’s a person that happens to be a sentinel. Not a sentinel that happens to be a person.” 

“That’s deep.” She was going to have to think about pedestals and being a person first, though.

Grace nodded. 

“And you still want to be a sentinel?” Lucy hazarded. 

“Well, yeah, I mean it’s special, isn’t it? And in a good way. You protect people. And it’s weird knowing that there’s this whole other world that you can’t see.” Grace blew out a really, really heavy sigh. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know about nā ʻaumākua?”

Lucy nodded. Spirits of the ancestors of native Hawaiians. Protectors. Important. Lucy was from Idaho, she’d moved to Honolulu with her mom because of work. But they had had a really interesting talk from a Kahuna about the people of Hawaii in school last year. 

“Danno and Uncle Steve can see them. Danno yells at them a lot. I just want – you know. Grandma’s a sentinel. Grandpa’s a guide. Dad’s a sentinel, and George is a sentinel. My whole family’s special and I’m me.” 

“Your mom’s not a sentinel,” Lucy blurted because she had to say something. Nā ʻaumākua?

“Yeah, and I take after mom, everyone says I look like mom. George looks like dad.”

George was a tiny little version of Grace’s dad with extra, added bottled lightning. 

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Lucy said. “I mean not being a sentinel. The zones and stuff – no jalapeño poppers.” 

Grace gave her a flat look, and, yeah, Lucy knew that it sucked. 

“I guess,” Lucy struggled. “You are like your dad -- I mean you look like your mom -- but you are a lot like your dad. You’re good at sports like your dad. Your mom’s an accountant, and you can’t add up a column of numbers without a spreadsheet.” 

“Gee, thanks, Luce.” 

“Some sentinels don’t break out until they’re ancient. It could happen. But--” Lucy sighed, this was hard, “I’m still going to be your friend if you’re a sentinel or not. But maybe you just have to figure out what makes you special?” 

“What makes me special?” Grace pursed her lips, looking back at the pop print of Marilyn. 

“Yeah.” Lucy was never going to be a sentinel or guide, but she was really, really good at science, and Commander Steve said that she was brave and cool under fire. She was going to be an EMT, or a doctor, or a cop, or an explorer of the unforgotten lands 

“What makes me special…?” Grace mused again. “Like what?” 

“Dunno. Guess we have to find out?” 

“Okay,” Grace drawled all the way through the vowels like Commander Steve. She lifted her glass and held it towards Lucy, and jiggled it. 

“Oh!” Lucy held up her glass and chinked it against Grace’s glass. “Deal.” 

“Deal.” 

**Fin ******


	8. Best and Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: gen  
> Warning: none spring to mind  
> Spoilers: none  
> Disclaimer: writing for fun and not for profit  
> Beta: the absolutely brilliant Springwoof
> 
> Comments:  
> 1) British English spelling  
> 2) Sentinel AU fusion teeny, little timestamp. A snippety snippet in the ‘Uhane universe

**Best and Heart.**  
By Sealie 

Best and Heart 

George batted his fingers against the blocks hanging in front of him. They bounced, each rattling or pinging, or jingling differently on the string. Jingle. Tinkle. Jingle. Ring. Jingle. 

“Bee beee * bee, George,” Danno said, love tickling against George’s skin. Danno also liked the jingle. George batted it hard. 

*Jingle.* 

Danno’s hands were warm, and soft, and strong in all the right places. The harness keeping him trapped snapped open. George pumped his legs, pushing against Danno as he was plucked out of the tight padded box, and the best car in the world, and lifted high. 

Sun! Sky! He gripped Danno’s collar, yanking him close. Best smell. Warm. Danno. Best. 

“Keiki. Dummm dm. duuuuuuu duuuum. Big. Danny?” 

Kamy – the big man – grinned. George held Danno’s collar tight, curling his bare toes away from Kamy’s sticky fingers. 

“Bee beee,” Danno said, hefting George a little higher. “Beee okay. Shy. Bleeee beee he bee beeee bee. Lunch?” 

“Shrimp!” George could get behind that wholeheartedly. He knew shrimp smell – sharp and sweet. He smacked his lips. 

“Steve?” Kamy Big Man said. 

“Steve? ❤?” George stretched up higher, questing. Heart. Warm. Shield. There! In the truck, the big truck. The black truck. Beside the black best car. “STEVE!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Whoa.” Danno rolled his eyes. “Inside voice!”

“STEVE!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Dummm dmmm. Loves Steve,” Kamy Big Man said. 

“Steve. Steve. Steve.” George bounced. He was coming. As tall as the sky. Love beat against his senses, filling him up. 

Steve pulled the funny face hiding ❤❤❤. George reached out, and Danno obeyed, holding him out. Sighing -- a balloon popping -- George clambered into Steve, tucking him in tight. 

“Mine.” George stuck his finger up ❤’s nose.

“Gee…. thanks, kiddo.” 

George’s hand disappeared into Steve’s giant hand. Magic. Warm. ❤. George gnawed on Steve’s big thumb. Blugh? Vile. He spat. 

“Sorry, kiddo.” Steve pulled his thumb free, holding it so they could both see. “Dunno what that is.” 

Bits – tiny bits – coated ❤’s thumb. They tasted green and looked purple. Purple! George let the drool flood out of his mouth. Blurrgh. 

“Oh,” Danno said. The magic tissue appeared. Danno and tissues. “Bleeee be bleeee bleeee.” 

Hahahah. ❤ got wiped first. Steve didn’t like being wiped. George had told Danno repeatedly that the tissues were bad. See! There was nowhere to escape as Danno mopped him down. 

“NO!” The torture continued… until it stopped. 

“It’s okay.” Steve joggled him. “It’s okay.”

❤

The world swooped and whirled. The Sky was blue! Lots of blue. The best blue was the blue that made his heart sing. The Sky went on up to all the Stars. Twinkle, twinkle, little star --

“Hey, kiddo,” Steve bopped his nose. He waggled a fat, juicy shrimp. “Wanna nom?” 

“NOM.” George agreed and grabbed. The shrimp was as big as his fist. Salty pinpricks, little tickles ran over his tongue, sweet. 

“Helovesshrimp.” 

George grinned at his Danno, as he rocked on Steve’s bony knee, Steve’s big hands around his tummy. 

Kamy rumbled, sounds rolling waves heavy enough to poke. George pushed them aside. 

One shrimp. Two Shrimp. Three shrimp. Four! George wriggled, and Steve obeyed, setting him on the harsh stubby ground. George curled his bare toes against the dry grass. He flexed his knees. A tiny spider, as big as a house, waved a hello from between stalks of grass. 

“I think we’re going for a walk,” Steve said. 

Steve was curled over him like a giant mountain. George stretched his hands high, holding onto Steve’s fingers. Big feet on either side of him lurched. 

“Awwww.” 

“Water. NO,” Danno said. “Bleee. Bee belllleeeeeBBBB!!!”

“It’s fine.” 

George put everything into getting to the water as fast as possible. ❤ was with him every step of the way. 

The sea tickled. 

He stomped. The water splashed. 

“You know, if your dad wasn’t insane, I would have had you swimming when you were days old.” 

“I CAN HEAR YOU!” 

George sat. Warm water flooded his diaper. Nice. 

“Ooops.” Steve grinned. 

“Neanderthal!” 

George knew that word. 

“N’dertal.” He grinned up at ❤. 

“Hah.” Steve wrestled him out of his t-shirt and shorts, flinging them aside with a splat. 

George giggled at Steve’s poking fingers. The water caressed his skin. George wiggled his fingers, making bubbles. Steve waded into the water, holding George against his chest. 

“Beee Bleeee be be!” Danno was loud. 

Soft water. Silky water. George let the ‘uku sila dance between his fingers. This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed at home. A kiss, a tiny kiss, and little kitten whiskers brushed his fingertip. 

“George?” Steve said. 

This little piggy had roast beef and this little piggy had none. ‘Uku sila pirouetted, her wet fur shimmering like a rainbow in the sunlight. Gracie liked to pirouette. And this little piggy went weeee weeee and ran all the way home. ‘Uku sila leap frogged off George’s littlest finger, waved a flipper, and splashed into the water to swim away. 

“Byebye!” George carolled. 

“Did I--” Steve peered after the ‘uku sila, “--see?”

Steve’s light was the sun’s rays in the sky. George grabbed a handful and tugged, bringing Steve’s attention back to him, as was right. 

“Steve!” 

“Oh, boy.” Steve blew out a raspberry, a deeply, deeply, wet raspberry. “I’m not entirely sure that we should tell Danno.” 

“TELL DANNO WHAT?” Danno yelled. 

Danno was good at yelling, and listening. 

“It’s a Hawai’ian thing, Daniel.” 

“I hate you.” 

“I love you too.” 

The sun was shining. The big whale with the giant mouth and the baby whale swimming through the big blue miles and miles away, beamed a hello, and George knew that one day he would swim with them. Danno would yell and Steve would tease.

All was right in the world, George knew. 

_** heh ** _


End file.
